


Angels & Seconds

by LokiLover84



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-03-17 05:04:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3516368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokiLover84/pseuds/LokiLover84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High school AU, where Sam is the first Second (human) to be admitted to an Angel academy. There he meets Gabriel, the most popular boy in the whole school. They seem to hit it off, only Gabe's only hanging out with Sam because of a dare. But after a few weeks, he finds himself falling for Sam, and he has to come clean and try to keep the best thing that's ever happened to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so here's the new and improved first chapter!!! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, much better. I like the way this chapter turned out, much better than the way it used to be! I hope you guys agree!! :)

It’s not fair.

The words swirl around and around in Sam’s brain, making it pound with the rhythm of a staccato drum. To say he’s miserable is an understatement. The world outside seems to echo his hopelessness inside, the sky hanging dark and ominous above him, the wildly gusting wind carrying with the the scent and promise of rain. 

And he still has blocks to walk before he gets home-- without an umbrella. 

He inhales, a shivery breath, his hazel eyes fixed firmly on the asphalt that makes up the majority of the ground covering outside his new school. It looks nice, all white stone against the bruise-colored sky, but Sam doesn’t want to look. 

It’s not fair. 

He’s never been good at fitting in, never had more than two or three close friends at any of the schools he’s ever gone to, and even then they were mostly fair-weather. They never invited him over to study, or even to hang out. To be fair, Sam never invited them to his house either, but he had already been toeing the line between respectable and having people know he wasn’t middle class, like he pretended to be, but rather just a step down from it. It wasn’t really that far-- his parents worked hard, always made sure he had a warm place to sleep, and there was always food on the table-- but the one car they owned was risky to drive on the best of days, and even though his clothes were sometimes name brand, it was because he knew one of the workers at the local Goodwill, and she discreetly hid clothes she knew he’d want in odd places in the huge metal building that housed them. It was always a good feeling to count out the change he kept saving up, knowing all his hard work would pay off with clothes that, if they didn’t get him noticed, would at least not make him stand out. 

He even had on his favourite pair of shoes today, at his mom’s insistence that today was a special day, to be celebrated. He’d only worn them a handful of times, preferring to stick with his more ratty pair of tennis shoes, so that the pretty black and red Nike’s would last longer. He was careful never to scuff them, and always wiped them off with a damp rag after he wore them before putting them lovingly away in an old shoe box in the back of his closet. 

But if today had shown him anything, it was that he definitely didn’t belong here, in this world that society had thrust him into, in an effort to break down social barriers, much like the movement in the 50s and 60s had led to the abolishment of segregation. 

His prized shoes weren’t going to help him fit in here. 

No, he’d need a miracle of mutating DNA for that. 

He was no angel. 

He’d cried when they’d told him he was going to be the first to attend an Angel Academy, which wasn’t really an academy but a regular high school. 

Only, it wasn’t regular. 

It wasn’t as if he’d never seen Angels before, but always from a distance. They enjoyed a type of celebrity status, most of them being from old, rich, respectable families, unburdened by the rules the Seconds followed. 

Oh, how Sam hated that word! As if he, his parents, his family and his friends were somehow less because they didn’t sport huge, shimmery wings from their backs. 

But oh, how beautiful those wings were up close. He’d never thought there could be so many colors in feathers, bright whites that reflected the sun, golds and greens in shades he’d never seen before, sharp crystalline clear, dark blues and purples in the depths of black, and even some cinnamon spotted creams, like hawk’s wings. He’d wanted to badly to touch, to see if they were as soft yet as sharp as they appeared. 

But he’d been rudely reminded of who, and what, he was the moment he’d stepped through the front doors of the school. The noise of people talking had faltered for a moment, eyes the colors of rainbows turning to him, raking over him, assessing, judging, damning. There had been a ripple of soft laughter, followed by the rustling of feathers as he’d passed through the crowds, some in warning-- you shouldn’t be here!-- and some in disdain. 

The message had been clear. You don’t belong, we don’t want you here, go away. 

As if he’d had a choice. He wanted to throw his arms up in despair and cry, ‘Don’t you get it? i don’t want to be here either! But I’m just a kid, what do you expect me to do…?!’

So he’d trudged on, suffering through hour after hour, class after class, trying to focus only on making it through this day, and not trying to remember that he’d have to do it all the following day. 

Hot tears burned his eyes as thunder rumbled ominously overhead. Great. The clouds were gunna open up before he got home, soaking him, his torn messenger bag and probably everything inside it as well. The tears were just about to spill over, when there was a blinding pain in the side of his head. 

Sam cried out, his hand flying up to clutch at the spot where something had connected with his skull, and he stumbled a couple of steps to the side. 

“Oh, my god, I’m so sorry, are you ok? Here, let me look--”

There were soft fingers covering his hand, and Sam’s brain shut down for a moment, allowing the stranger’s hand to pull his own away. Sam’s eyes opened slowly-- when had he closed them? On the pain of the impact? He wasn’t sure-- and traveled slowly up the other person’s body. There were a pair of boots, scuffed a bit and clearly broken in, a few years old, if Sam could peg the age of shoes, followed by a stone-washed pair of dark blue jeans, and finally, a goldish colored shirt, which for some reason made Sam think of toffee popcorn or caramel apples. 

But it was the face and the eyes that got him. The eyes were soft, filled with concern, and a smoky gold color Sam had no word for. Brown hair, a few shades lighter than his own, framed the almost perfectly formed face, and the backdrop for the whole package was a set of wings that Sam would have called beautiful. 

They were huge, as all wings were, because they grew as their owner grew, from babyhood to adult, and since they were designed for flight, most adult wings were massive. These had primary feathers that almost brushed the ground, and made Sam think predator. There were a dirty white, with streaks and splotches of tan, so much like a raptor bird that Sam wondered for a split second if he were being hunted. Then the voice came again, smooth like honey or whiskey. 

“Are you ok?”

Sam gaped, his mouth working open and closed like a fish, and he desperately struggled to say something, anything. 

“I--What was that?”

He finally managed to croak out. The--person? Man? Boy?-- before him tossed back his head and laughed. 

“We were playing air frisbee, and it got away from me. Guess we really shouldn’t be playing when a storm’s rolling in, but…”

He shrugged, waving an arm vaguely to include the others that made up the ‘we’, and Sam glanced at them. Five of them, giving him looks that ranged from curious to outright hostile. He shivered, eyes sliding back to the boy in front of him. 

“Oh. Well, yea, I guess. And I’m fine, I think.”

Sam winced as he rubbed the sore spot on his head, and a look of concerned flashed through the whiskey eyes. 

“I really am sorry I hit you. I’d go home and put some ice on that, if I were you. And you have my word that next time I’ll look down before I throw a frisbee.”

Sam laughed softly. 

“Gee, thanks. Um, I’m Sam, by the way.”

He kicked himself mentally when that last part slid out, but the other boy just smiled and held out his hand. 

“Gabriel. Nice to meet you, Sam. The boy who’s changing history. I admire your guts, kid.”

The smile Gabriel gave him had Sam smiling back as he took Gabriel’s hand and shook it. When Gabriel let go, Sam felt the loss of the warm skin keenly. 

“Well, guess I’d better go. See you around, tomorrow?”

Sam nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and Gabriel winked as his wings shot out, thrusting down fiercely and lifting him off the ground, the resulting wind blowing Sam’s hair around his eyes. He watched Gabriel pump his wings, gaining altitude, then there was a whooshing noise as his friends took off too. Sam watched until they were specks, then turned back toward the front gate of the school. This time, though, his eyes were clear and he ran across the asphalt, his heart and body feeling lighter than they had all day. 

He didn’t even mind when the rain began beating down on him less than a block from the school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, kudos are my candy, and comments are my crack, so feed my addictions!! (Please?) ^.^


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's encounter comes out on paper, and Dean helps him with a little 'problem'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I didn't consciously mean for the ending to come out this way, but... I kinda like it. It shows that Sam and Dean have a relationship that isn't hampered by any parameters at all. They're neighbours, friends and can apparently be more without it being awkward. :) And no, I don't think there will be more like this, but I won't promise that... My muse is a big fan of surprises. :)

Sam was soaked to the bone and shivering when he got home. He pulled his key from his pocket and let himself inside, toeing off his shoes on the mat in front of the door and hanging his backpack from its hook above the hall storage bench. He could hear music and off-key singing coming from the kitchen, and he shut the door with a little extra force, signalling his presence. It wasn’t long before his next door neighbour, Dean, came sliding out of the kitchen and down the hall in his socks to the tune of ‘Old Time Rock & Roll’. Sam laughed as Dean pretended to sing and play the air guitar until the last chords faded away, then reached out and tousled Sam’s hair, which earned him a quick slap on the back of his hand. 

“Hey jerk, how was school.”

Sam shrugged, eyes shining as he ducked his head. 

“Fine. How’s dinner coming? Bitch.”

Dean wrapped a muscular arm around Sam’s neck and pulled the smaller boy toward the kitchen. 

“Bitch, am I? Boy, you should be grateful. This ‘bitch’ is cooking you supper. Your mom called me, said she had to work late again, and would I please keep an eye on you?”

Dean batted his eyelashes in a false impression of Sam’s mom that had the teen practically rolling. 

“Yea, like I need a babysitter. Besides, I bet I could get better cooking by doing it myself… Can’t be any worse than yours anyway!”

Sam laughed as Dean clutched his chest, acting as if he were mortally wounded by Sam’s words. 

“I’ll have you know, I’m an amazing cook. We’re having lemon pepper chicken, baked potatoes and salad. And, if you’re really good, I’ll let you have some of my apple pie.”

Sam perked up a bit at the mention of dessert, and Dean grinned. 

“There’s even ice cream to go with it, if you do your homework like a good boy and don’t give me any more lip.”

Sam mouthed the last bit as Dean was saying it, earning him a light smack upside the head, which just made him giggle even more. 

“Boy, go do your homework. Supper will be ready in 30.”

Sam nodded at Dean’s back as the older man headed back to the kitchen. He retrieved his book and spiral from his backpack and headed to his room, tossing his load on his desk before stripping off his wet clothes and changing into a pair of sweatpants. He took his wet clothes down the hall to the laundry room and tossed them in the wash, then padded back to his room and sank into his desk chair, flipping open both his math book and spiral, and knocked out his homework. When he looked up from the last problem, he realized he still had about 20 minutes until Dean called him for dinner. Shoving his books aside, he stood and stretched, then glanced over at his artist’s easel, which stood at an angle by the window, his sketchbook open to a fresh page. Without giving himself too much time to think, he retrieved his charcoal pencils from his top desk drawer and pulled his desk chair over to the easel. Letting out a deep breath, he relaxed, raised his hands and began to draw. 

Dean called for Sam once, twice, then three times before rolling his eyes and heading to Sam’s room. When he reached the doorway, he stopped and crossed his arms over his chest, smiling. Sam’s back was facing the doorway, the only thing really moving was his hand, with a small head toss thrown in as he flicked his hair out of his eyes. Dean studied what he could see of the drawing around Sam, and grinned. He could see the unmistakable sweep of an Angel wing, partially colored. Angels were actually Sam’s favourite subject, though Dean had been worried that that might change, what with Sam being almost forced to attend the Academy. He was relieved to see that that didn’t seem to be the case. 

He came quietly into the room, registering by the slight tenseness in Sam’s shoulders when the younger man senses his presence. But Sam didn’t stop drawing-- Dean was pretty much the only person he didn’t mind working in front of. Dean studied the drawing with a slightly critical eye-- Sam had taught him enough to know Sam’s better drawings-- and nodded as he bent down, wrapping his arms around Sam’s shoulders. 

“He’s very pretty. Does he have a name?”

A light blush dusted Sam’s cheeks as his hands stilled in the shading of the eyes. 

Honey. Whiskey. Gabriel. 

Sam didn’t realize he had spoken out loud until Dean spoke in his ear. 

“Gabriel huh? Is he as cute as you’ve drawn him?”

Sam couldn’t help but nod. Dean smiled against Sam’s ear, then took a risk and darted his tongue out to lick the shell of Sam’s ear. 

Sam moaned. Dean’s smile grew wider. 

“Tell me about him, Sam.”

Sam was putty in Dean’s hands as the callused fingertips trailed down his chest, tracing his pecs and flicking over his nipples. Sam sighed at the contact, letting his head fall back against Dean’s shoulder. Dean bit softly at the junction of Sam’s neck and shoulder, then murmured, brushing his lips across the bite. 

“Tell me, Sam.”

Sam started talking as Dean’s fingers worked at the tie on his sweatpants. 

“He’s an Angel. A bit taller than me. He’s got this smile that lights up his face. He likes to play air frisbee. And his eyes… God…”

Sam groaned when Dean’s hand slipped down to curl around his swiftly hardening cock. 

“His lips… I bet they’d look so pretty wrapped around your cock, huh Sam?”

Sam moaned again when Dean started to stroke him. 

“Imagine it Sam. Gabriel on his knees, those pretty wings spread out around you, just the two of you, while he runs his tongue all over your cock… Or would you rather be on your knees for him? Would you like that Sam, a little slut for the pretty Angel? C’mon, Sam, let me hear you…”

Sam keened, high and broken, as he came, thinking about being with the Angel. When his vision cleared, Dean removed his hand and Sam looked up in time to see him licking Sam’s release from his long, capable fingers. Sam’s eyes slipped closed and he sighed softly, thinking about how it would be if Dean were Gabriel. Dean smiled a bit sadly at Sam when Sam couldn’t see, then headed for the door. 

“Get cleaned up, Sam. Dinner’s ready.”

Sam waited until Dean had left, then shuddered as he rose, opening his eyes just to see Gabriel looking back at him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finishes his painting of Gabriel. Sam and Dean play around. (As best friends, not like that, you perverts!) :D

Despite what Sam said, Dean was actually a fair cook, and Sam appreciated him more than he could express, when his mom had to work late. Most of the time she didn’t worry much about Sam, knowing he was more than capable of taking care of himself, but every once in a while, she got bit by the worry bug, and called Dean. If he was available, he always agreed to come over and keep an eye on things. Those were the days Sam like most, because it meant actual food and not delivery pizza. 

Sam devoured two pieces of chicken, a huge mountain of mashed potatoes, a small helping of salad and a larger-than-average piece of apple pie, smothered in vanilla ice cream, topped with chocolate syrup and a cherry. Dean, who was no slob when it came to putting food away, nevertheless watched Sam with growing amazement until Sam licked the last of the ice cream and apple pie filling off his spoon and dropped it with a clatter on his plate. 

“Dude, where do you put all that food? Got a hollow leg?”

Sam grinned. 

“Man, I’m a growing boy. And shut up. Don’t act like you can’t eat as much, or more, than what I just did.”

Dean rubbed his stomach and made a face. 

“Maybe. But I’m getting old, so I’ve gotten to the point where I know it’s not healthy. And I don’t work out enough to burn off as many calories as what you just ate.”

Dean eyed Sam’s long, slender figure enviously. 

“Not fair, man. I bet you won’t have gained an ounce even after eating all that.”

Dean stuck his tongue out and Sam laughed. They rose together, soundlessly clearing the table, putting all the leftovers in the fridge and rinsing the plates, cups and utensils before loading them in the dishwasher. Afterwards, Sam headed upstairs for a bath and Dean settled in on the couch, grabbing the remote and flipping through the channels. He put it on a documentary, something about undersea life, nothing he really wanted to watch but would provide some background noise. He let his mind drift as the faint sounds of Sam showering drifted down from upstairs. 

 

Sam shed his sweatpants and climbed into the shower before turning the water on. He made it a bit hotter than normal, letting the water ease the tension in his shoulders and back as he thought back to earlier. Only the memory was corrected by his brain so that it had been Gabriel, and not Dean, who had stroked him so masterfully to completion. He sighed, tempted to jack off, but decided against it. He shampooed and conditioned his hair, then washed off quickly, and was done in record time. Usually he took his time, but it was getting late and he did have to go to school tomorrow. Plus, he wanted to work a bit more on his drawing of Gabriel before he crashed for the night. 

He stepped out of the shower, grabbed one of the thick, fluffy towels he’d insisted on his mom buying the last time she’d replaced the bathroom linens, and dried off before tossing the towel in the hamper. He slipped his sweatpants back on, figuring that since he hadn’t worn them for long that they were still clean enough, then headed for his room. He smiled when he heard the sound of the TV from downstairs before slipping into his room and shutting the door halfway. He retrieved his colored pastels from his desk drawer and set up quickly, then grabbed his charcoal and finished up the last bits of his drawing before he began to add color to the drawing. 

Dean jerked awake after a few minutes, startled back into wakefulness by a commercial on TV. Thankfully, he hadn’t slept more than a few minutes, but in that time, judging by the lack of noise coming from upstairs, Sam had finished his shower and probably gone back to his drawing of the pretty angel. Curious, he flicked off the TV and headed upstairs. 

Dean came to a halt and Sam’s door and peeked around the half-open door, smiling when he saw Sam hard at work, adding smears of color, then dabs, to his drawing, covering the charcoal and bringing the work of art to life. He worked swiftly, a sure sign he was in what he liked to call ‘the zone’. It was when Sam was most creative, but also the time when he was most likely to crash when he finished his work. Dean sighed, wondering if he should interrupt, make Sam take a break so that when he finished, he wouldn’t suffer from a massive headache. Just when he made up his mind too, Sam’s hand dropped, he sighed, and began to stretch, all clear signs that he was finished. 

Dean cleared his throat and Sam jumped a bit, glancing over his shoulder at Dean with a small smile, using the bulk of his upper body to hide most of the painting. He sat, waiting for Dean to speak. 

“May I...see it?”

Dean finally asked, gesturing, and Sam grinned, then nodded. He stood as Dean came in to the room, and when he stepped back, Dean whistled. 

“Wow...Sam.”

Sam nodded, his eyes shining with pride. 

“I know.”

The painting was still wet, which gave it a faint sheen, but it in no way detracted from the whole. Sam had captured Gabriel perfectly, from the slight smile, to the wave in his golden brown hair. But it was the eyes, the color of Jack Daniel’s with just a hint of grey, that really caught and held the viewer’s gaze. Sam had imbued them with a gaze that seemed to pin the person looking at him, and there were promises in those depths, if one were brave enough to look long and hard enough to find them. 

Dean finally broke his eyes away from Gabriel’s, feeling slightly rattled, and took in the rest of the picture. The clothing and background were almost inconsequential, and once the eyes skimmed over them, they settled on Gabriel’s wings, spread wide in a display of both power and protection. They were white, speckled with tan, and, like Sam, they made Dean think of a hawk, sleek and powerful in its beauty. 

Sam bit his thumb, a gesture Dean saw from the corner of his eye, and he turned to look at Sam, who was staring at him with a hopeful look on his face. Dean grinned and pulled Sam into a side hug. 

“Dude, it’s beautiful. You should seriously have it framed. I would suggest entering it in the art contest at the end of the year, but I know how you feel about your portraits being displayed.”

Sam ducked his head in embarrassed pride. It was true, he knew it, that this piece was good enough to be the main entry in the contest, but at the same time, thinking of people actually looking at his work, criticising it, discussing it, made him slightly sick to his stomach. Dean, seeming to know how he felt, squeezed Sam a bit closer before releasing him. 

“Well, I guess it’s about time you went to bed. What’s the bedtime for kids? 8?”

Dean joked to break the tension of the moment, and laughed when Sam punched his arm. 

“Jerk. I’ll have you know that I probably stay up later than you, old man!”

Dean clutched his chest, eyes wide, as if mortally wounded. 

“Old man, am I? I’ll show you old, you pup!”

Dean grabbed for the teen, but Sam danced backwards, laughing. Dean followed, Sam circling him until he could bolt for the door. But Sam hadn’t counted on Dean being quite so fast, so he found himself yanked back by the waistband of his sweatpants, falling into a heap on the floor, and suddenly Dean was tickling him for all he was worth, the two of them laughing as Sam flailed and Dean tried to avoid getting hit. 

Finally, they began to wind down, each gasping for breath, and Dean crawled slowly to his feet. Sam wriggled across the carpet and propped himself up against the side of his bed until he could breath properly again. When he did, he rose to his feet, yanked back the covers and slid into the bed, laying on his side so he could watch Dean. The older man was breathing a bit hard, but his eyes were dancing and his lips were curved into a smile. 

“Little bitch. Teach you to mess with me, huh?”

Sam laughed softly and nodded as Dean turned toward the door. He paused in the opening for a second, his hand resting on the light switch. 

“Good night, Sam. Love you, you little brat.”

Sam grinned and nodded.

“Love you too, Dean.”

Dean flicked out the light and shut the door, leaving Sam to slip into dreams of Gabriel.


End file.
